Thursday, March 08, 2007

I.thinking about youmakes mehungry,and sometimes i feel sick.your eyes, clear as an actor's, start a fizzing inside of meand iridescent bubbles glimmer in myalimentary canal,shyly glowing a little, if you know where to look,and it gets so i can't talk to you(as if i could, anyway, come up withsomething tosay).more often than not i blurt an excuse andflee--cramming my mouth with pears and apples,poor substitutes for your kisses.

II.dear,biting through your tendonwas a time of my life:feeling the twist against my teeth,the vital living flesh,tatsing the iron blood as it coursed down my lips, your neck,like some furious-german river;your skin so tender and thin, your blood so pure, distilled asbottled water;the little gasp when i puncturedwill stay with me forever,aurally erotic legend.and so will the knowledge that now, inside me, there you are,atoms mixing with my own, molecules unwindingand (kindly) rewinding again;"you are what you eat,"and i love you.

III.onscreen,the cleft in angelina jolie's lipreminds me of you;at home,the plates remind me of yours, the first time i saw you--cafeteria lasagna, that thick white industrial china(easy wash).when i'm driving sometimes i stop in the middle of the street,horns our symphony,catching sight of a boy in a beret bikingor a graffiti'd up stop signor, god forbid, a rainbow.babe, you've ruineda dozen songs for me;two tv shows, four movies, make me curl up and cry.and the phone, christ, the phone!it can't ring without my first thought being of you.too bad you won't let me call anymore.